


fits his criteria

by lonereedy



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Boners, Craig wears beanies, Craig's Boner Jams, Fluff, LOVE YOU JULES, M/M, Pining, Secret Santa, Tweek wears a snapback, Warning: Craig has brown eyes, Yoga, did I mention awkward boners?, meet cute, this fic is terrible so please don't click, yoga rambles, yoga retreat, yogi Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonereedy/pseuds/lonereedy
Summary: Craig isn't sure what to expect when Kenny books them both into a yoga retreat as an early birthday present, but he certainly didn't expect to find someone who fits all of his criteria...
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52
Collections: sp creek server secret santa 2020





	fits his criteria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jewboykahl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/gifts).



> Happy Holidays everyone!!!!!!! :D
> 
> JULES, SURPRISE!!!!!!! I couldn't believe it when I found out you were my SS!!! I tried to keep it under wraps, but since I'm posting so late, I'm sure everyone in the discord already knows, ha ha!!! Very sorry you pulled the short straw by getting me! XD I remember you writing 'yogi Stan' a little while back, and it inspired this whole fic. You are a wonderful, supportive and talented person, and an amazing, sweet and hilarious friend!!! I'm so glad we get to talk about creek (and other pairings) all the time!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Huge thanks also to xeno and Dan for setting up the sp creek discord SS. Great job, guys! :)

Craig steps to the side, lanky frame dwarfed by the rusted bed of the Ford 6.0 in front of him. His arms tingle with a familiar, pleasant ache as he powers on with the sand blaster. He feels feather-light in his boots as he works, heels pressing half-formed footprints into the dust-coated scaffold beneath him as if he’s an astronaut on the moon. It might not be everybody’s idea of fun, especially Kenny’s, but he’s comfortable; he’s unfazed by his restricted vision, watching the dirt and grit disappear, revealing a smooth and sturdy frame underneath, losing himself to the rap beat violin music pulsing through his earbuds. He moves almost rhythmically, hyper focused on getting the over-spray blasted into the unfinished areas, ensuring that he’s getting deep into the small edges. There’s copper coal and glass media floating in the air, surrounding him in an iridescent-orange-glow nebula.

_This _. This is Craig’s space.__

____

____

It’s backbreaking work, requiring strength and persistence. Some of their clients may not always understand the need for such intense surface preparation – after all, they’re usually chosen because of Kenny’s sick decals and paint jobs – but it suits Craig to work in the background.

He watches the forgotten dove grey of the truck reveal itself as he works, a nail-biting crescendo building in his ears, crashing; the beat’s dropping in time to his motions. He has very little sense of his surroundings while blasting, and doesn’t feel the eyes watching his back from a safe distance. Kenny wonders how Craig can constantly keep blasting vehicles for days. It’s great money for the effort, but it’s laborious and stifling. It’s why they’re such a good team. Craig prefers to take on the prep stages and let Kenny handle the paintwork.

Craig knows he hasn’t got an artistic bone in his body. It’s never bothered him, since he only cares to put effort into his passions and pets. Kenny, on the other hand, feels like his art is a way to express himself. This week’s job involved painting a topless woman on the side of a deep red pickup. Kenny’s realistic figure drawings are incredibly popular and another reason _McTruckers_ keeps in business. His client wanted busty and blonde, so naturally he based his Frontier beauty on Bebe – she’ll find it freaking hilarious and flattering after busting his nuts when she inevitably sees it on the road – with waves of golden hair and cherry-painted lips. He’s proud of the pearlescent shine on her cheeks, collarbone and full, shapely breasts.

He’d been torn about the color of her nipples and Craig was no help whatsoever, not giving a fuck. _Useless homo_. Eventually, after an internal debate lasting two days – _McCormick,_ Craig had sighed, _don’t tell me you wasted nearly 48 hours on faux-Bebe’s tits_ – he’d gone for a deep pink with an undertone of brown. She had a small waist, a pierced navel and a short pair of electric blue Daisy Dukes, her thighs just visible and touching the frame.

The client was thrilled, enchanted by the lifelike beauty posing coyly down the passenger side of his Nissan, and they collected another pay check. A pay check that partly went towards the gift in Kenny’s hands.

Kenny waits until Craig has put his equipment safely away and pulled his hood down before sauntering over with a lazy grin.

“Got you a little something-something, Craigory,” he crows as soon as Craig’s tugged out his earbuds, letting them flop against his chest.

Craig raises his middle finger as he heads to his work bench. “Keep it,” he huffs, removing his safety gloves.

Undeterred by Craig’s typically gruff exterior, the dirty blond presses an envelope covered in scribbles and doodles – the largest being Craig’s name in cursive below a cartoon penis – into his hands. “C’mon, dude. I saved up for this.”

“Using Bebe’s boobs,” Craig sighs, but he turns the envelope over anyway. On the back, it reads: _Open me already, Fucker._

Kenny doesn’t even try to deny it, grinning widely as Craig reluctantly opens his gift. “It isn’t my birthday for another two weeks, man.”

“I know,” Kenny’s decidedly cute cheek dimples deepen, “but this comes with a deadline.”

Curious, Craig pulls out a folded sheet of A4, brow furrowing as he reads the logo at the top of the page: _Satya_.

His eyes scan the text. It’s an invitation; a booking under his name for a seven-day yoga retreat. He lowers the paper and blinks a couple of times.

“What is this?”

“Well, my friend, it’s an all-expenses paid vacay. The ultimate relaxation break!”

Craig’s pink lips stretch out into a straight line, his chocolate brown eyes half-hooded in disapproval, “Vacay? I’ve never even _attempted_ yoga. You think I’m going to embarrass myself in front of seasoned professionals at some middle-of-nowhere retreat?”

“Not just any retreat,” Kenny says proudly, “ _Stan’s retreat._ ”

Craig looks taken aback, “Marsh has a retreat now?”

“How this news escaped the gossip King I’ll never know,” Kenny chuckles, “he bought his parents’ old farm.”

“Tegridy?” Craig breathes through his teeth, “Well, shit.”

It’s not as if Craig hasn’t seen Stan in the years since they left high school. After Stan finally said yes to Kenny six months back, Craig’s seen more photos of Marsh than he ever wished to witness. He’d ditched the dorky bobble hat – all hats in fact – in favor of bandanas which kept his choppy fringe away from his eyes. His wardrobe seemed to consist of tie-dyed tees and oddly patterned, and likely thrifted, shirts in yucky color combos. Skin-tight denim jeans and sneakers were replaced with comfortable slacks and brown, open-toe sandals. He’d adopted a vegan diet and spent his evenings outside by an open fire with his acoustic guitar.

Stan Marsh had officially turned into a hippie.

“You’re sorta my plus one,” Kenny grins, “but I promise you’re in for a good time. We’re in the all-male booking, and most of the employees are dudes. So, this,” he points at the invitation, “is basically seven days of eye-candy. Best present I could give you, right?”

Craig huffs, “You just want to ogle Stan. Which you can do anytime, so why the hell’d you pay for this?”

“That’s a round-a-bout way of thanking of me, isn’t it?” Kenny teases, “And you’re welcome. I’m sure they’ll be someone your type at this thing. Stan says a lot of single men go. Single _gay_ men.”

Kenny had been a little too involved in Craig’s practically non-existent love life since hooking up with Marsh. “I don’t need your help,” Craig grunts. It isn’t as if he’s unaware that he’s pretty good looking. He’s taller than average at 6’4’’ and his naturally thick, black hair and tanned skin often draw attention. Just last month, a customer had asked him out to dinner, so he gently reminds Kenny.

“I went out with Malcolm,” Craig says with a shrug. Sure, it was one date and he was bored to tears after only an hour, but at least he made the effort.

“Matthew,” Kenny corrects, “dude with the sick Gladiator? And only because he was blond.”

Craig frowns, following Kenny into the break room, “I don’t just date blonds.”

“Nah, but you have a type, Tucker,” Kenny settles himself into the patchwork couch at the back of the room, crossing his legs at the ankles and smirking up at Craig, “everybody knows that.”

“You’re blond and I don’t want to date _you_ ,” Craig flicks on the kettle, dropping two tea bags into the matching pair of china cups on the counter.

Kenny barks a laugh, “That’s ‘cos I don’t meet your second criteria.”

“Which is?” Craig raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter and feeling a twinge in his right arm after hours of holding the heavy Blasmatic.

“Gotta be under 6 foot,” Kenny exclaims, “the shorter the better.”

Craig shakes his head, strands of dark hair brushing against his temples, “Not true.”

“Oh, but it is,” Kenny steeples his hands under his chin. The kettle clicks off and Craig turns away to make their drinks. “I know you don’t count Thomas, cos he’s not gay, but he was 5’7’’, tops. Then there was Bradley. About 5’9’’…and Leo’s only 5’6’’. I don’t think you’ve ever even looked at someone above 5’10’’.”

Craig noticeably flinches as he pours water over the tea bags. He doesn’t like to admit it, but shit, Kenny’s right. Craig’s so used to hanging out with taller than average men – his father is the same height as he is, Kenny, Token and Jimmy are a few inches shorter, and even Clyde made it to 6’0’’ thanks to his Dutch heritage.

“It’s more of a preference than a criterion,” Craig says as he adds a splash of milk to Kenny’s beverage and slightly more to his own until it turns to a creamy, soft beige. “Not everyone has such loose standards,” he says as he passes Kenny his drink.

Kenny smiles around the lip of his cup. His promiscuous high school reputation was as much common knowledge as Craig’s preferences. He dated all genders, older and younger, experienced and virgin. Some rumours were false and often spread by a jealous ex, whereas others were stranger than fiction. But Kenny’s had his eyes on only one guy for the past ten years.

“Does Stan know about this?” Craig asks, taking a hesitant sip of tea and blowing when it scorches the tip of his tongue.

“It was his idea actually,” Kenny admits, placing his cup on the floor. “Though I insisted I paid for you.”

Craig chooses to sit on their old office chair, body gently rocking from side to side as he gets comfortable, “Why the hell would Marsh want me there?”

“He _likes_ you, Craig. Platonically of course. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Craig picks up the invitation and scans it one last time. They’re booked to go in a couple of days. “What about the shop?”

“All the big jobs are done,” Kenny confirms, “Henri and Kev can handle the rest.”

“I’ll need to arrange a sitter for Stripe,” Craig says, since that’s the most pressing issue that comes to mind, “and-”

“Awesome!” Kenny cuts him off excitedly, jumping to his feet. “I’ve got to get part two of your present.”

He dips into the store cupboard, accessed via the break room, and returns with a cardboard box. He sets it on Craig’s lap, waiting eagerly for Craig to open it.

“What if I’d turned it down?” Craig asks as he peels off the many layers of tape.

Kenny holds up one finger, “ _Single_ ,” two fingers, “ _gay_ ,” three fingers, “ _men_ ,” in front of Craig’s nose. “No way you’d turn that down.”

Craig wants to flip Kenny off, but holds back for two reasons: first, his gift is thoughtful – Craig hasn’t taken a break in months, working over the entire Christmas period – and second, he’s dead right.

Craig lifts back the box flaps and stares at the contents. According to the labels on the packaging, it’s an all-black, lycra workout set. Two tops, one short sleeved, the other long, and one pair of figure-hugging leggings.

“Kenny…”

“I got the matching set, in orange of course,” Kenny grins, watching as the already small smile fades from Craig’s face. “I risked a large. They might be a bit short, but you’re a twig, dude.”

Craig did have some frustration around his body weight. Even with his bulked-up arms, Kenny tells him he’s about 10 pounds lighter than Stan, despite being seven inches taller. Still, he’s in good shape and is used to receiving compliments for his figure. His long legs would certainly look stork-like in such unforgiving clothing.

“I knew you wouldn’t have anything appropriate,” Kenny adds, knowing that Craig’s daily wardrobe outside of his work gear consists mainly of hoodies and slim-fit, rolled-hem chinos.

Wondering if this a good idea, and tempted to back out last minute, it suddenly occurs to Craig that the other guys at the retreat are probably all going to be wearing similar stuff. Tight, revealing, body and ass-grabbing stuff.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thanks for the thoughtful gift, _McCordick_ …and Marsh, too.”

Kenny pretends not to notice the flush that spreads down from the tips of Craig’s ears to his collar bone, “Oh, you’re welcome, big guy.”

*~*~

Craig’s flicking through photos of Stripe, tired of staring at the repetitive flat scenery of open, green fields and copy-and-paste trees.

He doesn’t look up as he mumbles, “You didn’t tell me Marsh bought the farm.”

Kenny knows Craig well enough to realize it’s a question rather than a statement. To an outsider, his tone is nasal and uninterested, but Kenny reads into his disappointment about being out of the loop. After all, Craig thrives on gossip and rumors.

“Stan didn’t want any fuss,” Kenny says, watching as they pass by a faded old sign to John and Judy’s Cannabis Acres. “Even now, there’s still people pissed off about Tegridy. The place is totally different now,” he turns to face Craig. “He decided on _Satya_ ‘cos it means truth. Loosely translated anyway. He wanted somewhere that people could be true to themselves.”

Craig pauses in his finger swipes; Stripe in a tiny top hat looks up at him. “Great. I’ve never been anything _but_ truthful.”

“More like unapologetically blunt.”

Craig can’t argue with that, and gives a half-shrug, “You think I’m not being honest with myself then?”

“You tell me,” Kenny grins, “but if this break doesn’t convince you that you’re only interested in boning shorter blond dudes, I’ll eat my hat.”

“You don’t even wear a hat.”

Kenny’s smile turns mischievous, “Then I’ll eat yours.”

Craig automatically reaches up to tug at his navy beanie. Kenny’s definitely eaten some weird shit back when they were kids, so as much as he’s joking, Craig wouldn’t put it past him to try.

The cab turns up a dusty farm track framed by tractor-ploughed green fields and blue spruce trees stroking the yellow hues of the early morning sky. Craig had never visited the farm when it was still Tegridy, but he suspects it looked nothing like it does now.

There are two wooden buildings, the largest being the studio located in the center of the accommodation huts. The other functions as the dining lodge and has a wrap-around front porch filled with hammocks and comfortable chairs. A few guys are already sitting and talking with drinks in their hands; glasses filled with bright-green smoothies. Stan’s sat on the top step; wavy hair swept back under a polka dot bandana. He raises his hand in greeting as Kenny hurries out of the cab, leaving his share of the taxi fare on the seat for Craig to deal with. Craig watches as the pair reunite, Stan opening up his arms.

Kenny drops his duffel bag and accepts the bone-crushing hug. He aches to touch his man after weeks apart. He cups his soft cheeks, thumb stroking the beauty mark on his chin, then he leans down and kisses him deeply.

“You look so good,” he murmurs against Stan’s lips. Craig wants to turn away, but his treacherous eyes force him to appraise Stan. He concedes that he _does_ look good. His skin is glowing, spot-free and smooth, and he looks calm and grounded. Craig remembers how empty his eyes had been before they parted ways in high school. Marsh had struggled with alcohol dependency and a sleeping pill addiction on and off for years, and it turned him into a husk of a man. Now, he looks refreshed and radiant, his loose-fitting clothes and serene smile making him far more attractive than Craig remembered.

“Missed you,” Stan rubs soothing circles into the small of Kenny’s back, eyes crinkling as Kenny peppers his brow with little kisses.

Craig wonders if they’ve forgotten he’s even there, and prepares to clear his throat and re-introduce himself, when Stan finally turns his attention to his childhood rival, “Welcome to _Satya_. I’m glad you came, Craig.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Craig says civilly, reluctantly accepting the hand Stan offers, his wrist limp as he allows the other to shake his hand, “I don’t really know what I’m letting myself in for here.”

“He couldn’t resist the eye-candy,” Kenny teases, “told you he’d come.”

Stan shares his partner’s knowing smile, “Plenty of blonds booked in for this week.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Craig huffs, “last thing I need is your _tegridy_.”

“Relax, man,” Stan doesn’t even flinch at the reference, though Kenny’s grip on his arm tightens protectively. He shoots Craig a disapproving look. _Not cool, bro._ “Kenny said you needed a break, and you can get a lot out of this experience.”

“Yeah,” Kenny adds, “like a boyfriend. You have to get laid, dude.” He turns to Stan, rolling his eyes dramatically, “He’s been crabbier than usual lately.”

Craig neither confirms nor denies this, but he ignores their gaze, toeing the ground with his space-print Converse. Maybe, just maybe, he has been a bit shorter than usual: blowing up when Kev ordered the wrong industrial coating, jabbing Kenny in the ribs for making lewd comments after finding out a customer was male, gay and single, and spending most of his breaks sat alone in his pickup, blasting out his favorite hit by _Starship_.

It isn’t as if Craig’s unhappy with his present life. Usually, the sharp pangs of loneliness hit at random times. It can be just as he’s falling asleep, arms empty and mind racing, or hanging out with the guys for Thursday’s taco night, grabbing a coffee to go in a café full of conversing couples and giggling best friends or even just waiting in line at the bank. Everyone he knows – and there aren’t a lot of people in Craig’s contact list – is coupled up, and even though they aren’t throwing it in his face, Craig has to wonder why the hell he’s the last one to find someone. He’s attractive, has a full head of hair, a stable job and loves animals. He’s the walking embodiment of tall, dark and handsome. So, what the _fuck_ is wrong with him?

“Sometimes you need to step back, reconnect, unwind,” Stan closes his eyes, his voice mellifluous, “yoga offers us the stress-to-bliss transformation we all deserve. There’re a lot of benefits: increased flexibility, lower stress levels-”

“And,” Kenny cuts in, wrapping an arm around Stan’s waist, thumb rubbing at the edge of his lover’s tie-dyed monstrosity which Craig imagines accurately portrays the result of a hippie throwing up acid, “my personal favorite: better sexual performance.”

Craig shoots him a glare, middle finger twitching from lack of use, “Can’t you switch off that part of your personality? Forever?”

The other two share a laugh, then Stan covers Kenny’s hand with his own, giving him such a sweet smile that Craig’s stomach twists and he feels both sick and jealous simultaneously. 

“We’d better get you checked in,” Stan says, “first beginners’ class starts in an hour.”

Craig’s muscles tighten up at the thought of attending a class. He’s not exactly unfit thanks to the manual labour involved at work and his daily jog, but Craig’s never been big on sports. He’s not very flexible or supple. He has no idea what he has let himself in for in agreeing to this break.

“Seriously, it’s nice to see you, man,” Stan says, sounding completely genuine, “it’s great spotting familiar faces about.”

“If you’ve hired Cartman, I swear to God I’m leaving right now,” Craig says with conviction, shuddering as he tries not to imagine him bending over in skin-tight leggings, “I really don’t need any nightmare fuel.”

Stan laughs softly, “Don’t worry, Eric won’t bother you here. Ever since he hit the big-time, he’s too busy living it up in LA.”

Kenny hooks his arm through Stan’s as they head towards the huts, adding with a smirk, “‘Til he blows it all and has to move back in with his mom, of course.”

“Naturally,” Stan agrees. “It’s a quarterly cycle.”

_Eric? So he’s Eric now?_

It had always been Craig’s plan to get as far away from Marsh and his friends as fast as possible. Kenny had been the one to approach him after graduation with a proposal, which Craig initially rejected because those auburn eyes were after more than a business partnership. Still, he’s sure no-one works harder than McCormick, and Craig had always found him the most tolerable of the four. Stan sort of pissed him off for trying to out-grump him all throughout middle school. His bat-shit crazy father, constant mood swings and struggles with his sexuality had done a number on him. It’s a little odd to see Stan so effortlessly relaxed, calm and stable now. It didn’t seem all that long ago that Kenny would be pacing in their breakroom, worrying over a tumblr post Stan had written at 3am whilst trapped in an on-again, off-again relationship with sobriety.

“There’s a welcome pack in your room with refreshments, a map and your itinerary,” Stan hands Craig his hut key. “You’re in #6, right over there. Freshen up, change into something more comfortable and meet us in the studio. You’re going to love it, man.”

“Great,” Craig exhales slowly, “thanks.”

“I can’t wait to see you in your workout gear,” Kenny teases, bumping Craig’s arm before turning to follow Stan like an enthusiastic duckling. He stops at the base of the steps to the dining lodge just to yell, “ _nothing_ will be left to the imagination, Craigory!”

“At least I won’t need to stuff a sock down there!” Craig shouts back, a sudden thought coming to mind that Kenny might have cut out nipple holes in his tops, just to be a bastard.

A spluttering of laughs to his left has him spinning to flip off the stranger; a surprisingly attractive stranger, wearing a grey snapback with tufts of curly, honey blond hair poking out by his ears. He’s cradling what smells like a strong, steaming cup of coffee.

“He’s such a shit,” Craig huffs, slightly embarrassed about his outburst in front of such a hottie, “a jealous shit.”

“Guess I’ll have to see who’s bigger for myself,” the stranger grins, taking a swig of coffee so black it looks like treacle. Craig swallows hard, wondering if his mouth would taste more bitter or sweet.

“See you in class, _Craigory_ ,” blondie gives him a wink, then steps inside his hut before Craig can dumbly ask for his name. He contemplates going round to ask if he’d like to walk with him to the studio, but another voice calls out to him.

“Settling in, too?”

Craig turns. It’s another blond, stockier this time, wearing a wife beater and cargo shorts. He raises his hand in greeting. “This is quite the place, isn’t it?”

Craig idly wonders if the yogi lovebirds had planned to surround Craig with blonds in the hope that one would peak his attention.

“It’s alright,” Craig nods, quickly entering his hut to put an end to any small talk. If it had been part of their plan, they’d started strong. Blond number one is totally Craig’s type.

The hut is modestly furnished, taking inspiration from the outside and using natural materials. Craig dumps his backpack by the pine desk and flops backwards onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. He trusts Stripe to tolerate Tricia for a week, and his pickup is safe in the garage. His 80s playlist is ready for whenever he wants to bop along to some banging tracks.

That’s all he really cares about. His guinea pig, his car and his music. Sure, he has other interests and hobbies, but if he was stranded on a desert island, he’d have no trouble choosing what he’d bring. He wonders if this is why his friends worry: Clyde asks him if he’s lonely. Token offers up his vacation house. Jimmy knows somebody who runs speed dating events and owes him a favor. Kenny tells him to “get wasted, get dick.”

Craig decides he must be getting desperate. It’s why he said ‘yes’ to coming in the first place. Craig isn’t lonely. But it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone by his side. Someone who would co-parent Stripe, sit in the passenger seat of his Ford F-150, window rolled down, hair messy, and screaming Benatar’s _We Belong_ at the top of his lungs with him.

He rolls over, eyes landing on the glass-bottled water on his bedside table. The light from the window bounces off it, reflecting Craig’s dark eyes back at him.

 _Go talk to him_ , his mind urges.

He heads to hut #8, stomach tight and pricking as if his organs are knitting a sweater. He knocks, fist hovering at chest height as he waits outside, alternating his weight from one foot to the other. Blondie doesn’t answer. Craig even looks in through the window, half-hoping to catch the blond changing into his yoga outfit, before cursing himself for sinking to McCormick levels of pervy. The lights are off and there aren’t any shadows or signs of movement inside. Blondie must have already left for the class.

Realizing that he also better get ready, Craig mentally prepares himself for the outfit reveal. He hasn’t even opened the packages since Kenny gifted them, distracted by Stripe and Star Trek: The Next Generation re-runs. Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best idea to trust Kenny. Sure, he’s a generous dude, especially to Stan and his siblings, but he’s also a huge fucking tease.

Craig rushes back to his hut and pulls the sealed yoga wear out of his backpack. He starts with the top, opting for the short-sleeved one. It’s folded in half, looking as if it’s just plain black until Craig unfolds it, jaw dropping. There’s a slogan across the chest written in sparkly gold lettering:

_I only date blonds._

Of course the mother fucker had them personalized.

“Fucking Kenny,” Craig sighs, opening up the long-sleeved shirt to find it even worse: an arrow pointing down with the phrase “blonds only” floating above it. He sighs, mentally flipping himself off for being stupid enough not to check them before the trip. Kenny must have banked on Craig being too lazy and trusting to bother.

The leggings are plain black and skin tight. They are a little short as predicted, and cling to him like a second skin. His twig-like legs look even longer – and Stan’s probably jealous, since Craig has at least an extra third of leg length – but it’s the bulge of his crotch that Craig can’t stop staring at. His lips curve into smile as he rates his own body an 11/10. The leggings look good, so _maaaaybe_ Kenny is forgiven for the crass tees. Besides, the yoga retreat is all about honesty, and Craig does admit to finding blond guys incredibly attractive. Especially ones in snapbacks and cable-knit sweaters sipping hot, _hot_ coffee.

 _Does he like his men like he likes his coffee,_ Craig muses, proud of his darker skin tone from his Peruvian heritage.

He’s busy staring at his defined ass when a text from Kenny pulls him from his self-admiration. _Are you still a voyeur if it’s yourself in the mirror?_

_Class in 5 mins where r u?_

_Shit!_ He shoves his feet into his abandoned Converse, almost tripping up as heads to the studio. There’s a tingle of excitement at running into his handsome neighbor. He almost forgets he’s here to take an actual class and not just spend half an hour staring at a cute stranger. The studio door is huge, even to Craig’s gigantic frame. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open, wincing at the natural light streaming in through the multiple thin windows dotted around the room. There’s natural oak furniture, soft furnishings and flashes of green bringing a homely vibe to the otherwise modern building. At the front of the room, he spies Stan chatting to a couple of guys with Kenny hovering in his bright orange two-piece. Some guys, mostly blonds again Craig notes, are already sat on their mats.

Coffee blond is one of them, his hair much messier and wilder without the hat (that windswept look perfectly matching the ideal passenger in Craig’s dreams); he’s wearing a loose-fit pink tee and his shapely thighs are hugged by a pair of dark grey leggings. Craig’s hand curls into a celebratory fist as he sees the mat diagonally behind him is free.

“Hi again,” Craig calls out as he settles onto his knees. “So, what d’ya think?”

The blond turns around, eyes slowly running down Craig’s body, lips stretching into a smile as his eyes land on his lycra-clad package.

“I think Kenny’ll need to use a pair to even get close,” he hums appreciatively.

“A pair of wh-…oh,” Craig feels the warm flush spread down his back as he gets it, mentally kicking himself for being such a slow idiot.

“Nice shirt,” the blond adds, revealing a flash of his pearly whites as he nips at his plump bottom lip.

“He actually chose this outfit for me. But no homo. Well, yes homo, but not with Kenny- I’m making a fucking mess of this, aren’t I?”

“That’s ok. I know he’s dating Stan,” blondie grins, holding out his hand, “I’m-”

Stan claps his hands just as Craig’s fingers brush against blondie’s, who pulls away with a disappointed half-smile, turning his attention to their instructor. Craig curses Marsh for his shit timing and glares at him for good measure.

“Good morning yogis,” Stan positions himself on his mat and crosses his legs, ocean blue eyes scanning the room, hovering on Kenny for a full minute longer than anyone else. “Today is a special day. You are starting your journey to mindfulness and a true sense of calm. Allow yourself to feel more grounded and connected to nature. Don’t worry if you feel like this class is a challenge. Follow my lead; I’ll make adjustments where necessary.”

Craig slowly drones out Stan’s voice, watching as the cute blond twitches and mumbles a quiet, “ _Oh Jesus,_ ” seemingly unaware of the verbal tic.

“For most of you, this is your first time on the mat,” Stan continues, whilst Craig can’t help but roll his eyes as he thinks, _Duh, Marsh, it’s a beginner’s class_. “Be proud of yourself for taking that step today. Be patient with your body. Now, before we start, I’d let everyone to set an intention. Think of them as a mini New Year’s resolution. We’ll be doing this at every practice this week, so it’s good to make it a habit.”

There are a few mumbles as the class decide on something. Craig hears a few of them: I am at peace; I am open-minded; I’ll get the promotion. He’s sure blondie whispers, _I won’t stress myself out today._

“Remember,” Stan adds, as if he heard him too, “it’s better to say _I am_ , _I have_ , _I will_.”

 _I am going to get his name and number_ , Craig thinks, not taking it as seriously as the rest.

“When you’re ready, we’re going to get into a child’s pose,” Stan instructs, assuming the position, “you can have your knees apart or together, feet touching, arms out and forehead down to the ground.”

Craig watches Stan, then Kenny, then blondie assume the position before copying them.

“We’ll be here for a couple of breaths, nice and slow. Breathe deep into your stomach. Close your eyes if you feel comfortable.”

Craig wonders if he sounds like a dick to admit that he didn’t expect Stan to be so coherent and professional. When he first saw the photos of Stan’s new look and diet, he had made some sarcastic comments. He supposes it’s karma that he’s here now, contorting his body in a lycra suit boldly displaying his preferences.

“We’re mentally preparing for our practice,” Stan’s voice is even and focused. “It’s time to focus on you.”

 _Or him_ , Craig thinks, trying and failing to catch the eye of the cute blond.

“Walk your hands forward, find some more length,” Stan wriggles his shoulders as he stretches, “now it’s time to think about your first intention.”

Craig feels the stretch, fingers trembling as his long arms seem to go on for miles. He hazards a glance to his left and wonders if it’s a valid intention to want to speak to him?

“Inhale,” Stan breathes deeply, and Craig follows as best he can, not used to concentrating on his breathing in this way. His left calf twinges at only three minutes into the class, “open mouth, exhale.”

“Come onto all fours, into a tabletop pose,” Stan slowly takes the pose, waiting for the class to get into the same position. “The shoulders are above the wrists; hips above the knees,” he confirms, looking around to make sure everybody is following correctly. “Time for cat and cow pose.”

The blond moves with his breath, rounding his back on the exhale, lowering his head. He’s easily the best person in the room, keeping in time with Stan and breathing naturally. Craig watches him as he moves, listening to Stan half-heartedly as his handsome hut neighbor shows off his core strength.

“Beautiful,” Stan passes by the blond, running a hand over his sturdy thighs and up his back in a way that feels sinful. Craig narrows his eyes.

_Okay Marsh, you can stop touching him now._

They go back into tabletop pose, and at least it’s getting familiar. There’re a few long holds in certain positions as Stan circles the room, correcting poses and giving encouragement.

Craig feels Stan’s hands pressing his shoulders down, “Relax, Craig.”

“Bite me,” Craig hisses, feeling the burn down his thighs. How the hell do people find this relaxing? He’s aching all over and seconds away from popping an awkward boner from watching blondie stretch and moan.

“Come onto your toes, send the hips up and back for downward facing dog.”

_Oh no._

Craig isn’t sure where to look. The redhead in front of him has a fairly flat ass, similar to Craig, but thankfully it doesn’t do anything to stir his groin. He squeezes his eyes closed, determined not to look to his left. He almost makes it too, but by the third time Stan instructs them back into the pose, he gives in.

And once he starts staring, he can’t stop. Blondie has a great pair of legs: soft, pudgy thighs and slender ankles. Craig spots his little stomach pouch in the unforgiving bottoms and it sends an almost forgotten jolt of heat between his legs. His already tight leggings are starting to get uncomfortable, as if his balls are in a vice.

He looks down and is greeted by an obvious tent. He slowly slides out of his downward dog so he’s lying down flat, forehead pressed into the mat. His cheeks are burning and his cock throbbing, demanding he give it attention. He daren’t move an inch in case the friction draws out a deep, throaty moan.

Stan reminds them all of the importance of deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling, whilst Craig struggles to keep his breathing steady, exhaling through his nostrils and trying to ignore the urge to dip his fingers under the waistband of his briefs.

“You alright, Craig?” Stan sounds worried as he hovers above him, “Are you hurting anywhere?”

_Not anywhere that you can help with._

Craig grunts, face flushed in shame, “N-no. Just...this is as much as I can do,” he mutters. “I’ll be fine in a bit.”

Stan takes his word for it and circles the room again. Craig doesn’t move for twenty minutes. He’s aware that this makes him look like he has the worst stamina in the world, but he’d rather they think that than see him sporting a boner over a stranger.

“Well, _Craigory_ , you’ve nailed reverse corpse pose,” a familiar, cheerful voice teases, “hope you’re feeling more relaxed now?”

Craig looks up into startling green eyes surrounded by full, pale lashes. Blondie has a cute, pointy nose covered in freckles and small, delicate ears. He looks like a pixie up close; perhaps he really is and Craig’s fallen under his spell? He’s so darned adorable. And blond. So very blond.

“At least I got one of them right,” Craig laughs, manoeuvring into a seated position now that he feels his penis has softened enough. “Just Craig is fine. That was tough.”

“You really _are_ a newbie,” blondie smirks, “but good on you for giving it a go. You’ll get used to the aches and pains. And the boners.”

“Wh-?” Craig looks down at his lap, worried that he’s not as flaccid as he thought, and the guy starts chuckling again. “You were shitting me!?”

“Hey, why else would you spend half the class face down? It’s totally natural, man,” he says, then lowering his voice, he adds, “and really hot.”

“Um,” Craig.exe is no longer able to function.

“I’m blond, so is it bold of me to say I have a chance?”

Craig nods rapidly, not trusting himself to speak. His intention echoes in his mind, and the yoga Gods are listening.

_“Nice. I’m Tweek.”_

*~*~

From the moment he knows his name, Craig knows he is smitten. Tweek is beautiful inside and out. He’s the most creative person Craig has ever met. He plays the piano and the clarinet, fingerpaints sunsets and rolling hills and is a bit of a theatre buff.

They become mat neighbors, then breakfast table neighbors, talking and laughing and stretching together, and giving Craig constant fuel for awkward boners.

Although other men do approach Craig, he finds himself blowing them off in favor of spending more time with Tweek. Craig’s always been a bit like that. Whenever he falls fast and hard for something, it becomes a long-time passion or obsession. As a child, he caught an advert for a show called Red Racer, a mere six seconds of footage, yet he was sold. He watched all eight seasons every day of the week for five years.

“You know, this break was a gift from Stan,” Tweek tells him as they lay in their hammocks, relaxing after an intense morning workshop. There’s a gentle breeze and the blue spruce trees sway with them, their shadows looming over the dining lodge.

“Really? You’ve known Marsh long?”

“Nearly six years. We met at a beat poetry event in Denver,” Tweek grins, gently rocking his hammock so that his arm can brush against Craig’s, “two down-on-their-luck vegans drowning their sorrows with cheap booze and cheaper words. Kept in touch ever since. He always tells me I’ve gone for ‘the wrong type’ of guy.”

“Oh?” Craig turns his gaze to Tweek, “Kenny thinks I’m picky, ‘cos of my self-imposed ‘criteria’: be blond and under six foot.”

Tweek snorts, “I pass for both. Want to date me?”

Craig sits up, about to ask something stupid like _wait, how tall are you?_ before Tweek quickly adds, “It’s okay, I’m joking.”

“Excluding Kenny, I haven’t spoken more than a few sentences to anyone here,” Craig says slowly, “except you. Shit Tweek, I’ve popped a boner for you at least five times already.”

There’s a rumble of a laugh. “Is this a confession, Mr. ‘I only date blonds’?”

Their eyes meet, and Craig is the first one to look away.

“Would you like to plant a tree with me this afternoon?”

Tweek responds instantly, “It’s a date.”

*~*~

Kenny and Stan take the lead, both barefoot, guiding the small group of men through the forest located behind the retreat. Originally the spot had been used for more vigorous activities, such as paintballing, but now, Stan wants a more reflective experience, giving everyone the chance to connect with nature and give back by planting a sapling along with an intention written on a slip of paper.

“You can touch anything,” Stan says as they journey deeper into the lush forest. He bends to pick up a fallen leaf, running his thumb over the veins. He yelps slightly as Kenny nips his bottom, taking full advantage of such a statement.

Tweek’s running his fingers over tree bark, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Craig wonders what he’s thinking about. His intention may be written on paper, but it feels heavier than lead in his pocket. This break has become more about getting to know _Tweek_ than finding himself.

They dig into the soft earth with trowels, first burying their intentions. Craig feels the dirt slip under his nails as he presses the tree gently into its new home. Tweek plants his tree next to Craig’s, adjusting his snapback as he stands up to give his sapling a fond farewell.

“Stripe has the best possible neighbor. He’ll be fine,” Craig nods as the other guys finish up the activity.

“You named yours Stripe? Like your guinea pig? Do you even _have_ an imagination, Craig?” Tweek laughs, itching his nose and leaving a dark smudge of dirt behind.

Craig swipes his thumb over it before he even knows what he’s doing. “I can imagine _us_ doing a lot of things.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, he fears Tweek won’t take it. He keeps his eyes forward as finally, _finally_ , a warm palm presses against his, threading their fingers together.

Kenny wolf whistles, Stan’s wearing an infuriating I-told-you-so expression and the other guys seem both envious and approving. Craig turns to flip them all off with his free hand.

“We’ll be having a campfire this evening,” Stan informs them as they head back to the retreat. “Attendance isn’t mandatory, so you won’t hurt Kenny’s feelings if you don’t show.”

“Or if Stan’s gay ass wannabe emo guitar shit puts you off, feel free to pass,” Kenny ribs his partner, smacking him lightly on the arm with his sandal.

“Hey, you love my gay ass wannabe emo guitar shit,” Stan retorts, to which Kenny throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah, I do. I love everything related to your _gay ass_.”

Tweek catches Craig’s eye, a mischievous smile on his lips, “You in the mood for some gay ass wannabe emo guitar shit?”

“It’s probably not a patch on my boner jams playlist, but it’ll do.”

*~*~

Tweek looks even more beautiful sat in front of the roaring flames. Shadows flicker across his face and the red sparks make his green eyes even more striking. Stan strums a few chords, warming up as Kenny throws another log onto the pit. The flames hungrily lick the wood and the satisfying crackles are a nice accompaniment to Stan’s riff. Drowsy and content, with his head resting in Tweek’s comfortable lap, Craig slowly closes his eyes, the fire painting orange and yellow kaleidoscopes onto the back of his eyelids.

The laughter and chitchat around them slowly quietens, until it’s just Stan’s almost-monotone singing voice.

Craig opens his eyes to find that only four of them are even still outside. Tweek smiles down at him.

“You look rested.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, I offered,” Tweek whispers back, pointing a finger at Stan and Kenny. “You know more than half of his songs are about Kenny, right? Super romantic.”

“So, the way to your heart is through music, hmm?”

“Oh yeah,” Tweek teases playfully, “play me _Watermelon Sugar_ and I’m all yours.”

“I’m more of a-”

“Of a dad music kinda guy,” Tweek cuts in with a smirk, “I’ve got you all figured out, Craig. If you haven’t got _Let’s Get It On_ on that famous playlist of yours, it’s over.”

Craig wonders if his intention will come true tonight. The atmosphere is perfect. _Do me a solid, plant Stripe._ Stan starts up another song, lost in Kenny’s starry eyes.

_I look up at the stars shining,_

_above a mountain town,_

_Reminding me of all the sparks,_

_I get when you’re around._

_Your face, full of constellations,_

_Good intentions, declarations,_

_Has me tongue-tied, and I can_

_hardly speak._

_Your guidance and your deep affection,_

_keeps me under your protection_

_Without you, my world is incomplete._

“I think they’ve forgotten we’re here,” Tweek chuckles, fingers scratching Craig’s stubble, “but it’s a beautiful song.”

_I’ve known you all my life,_

_But only got you recently,_

_Now my heart belongs to you,_

_And you are all I see._

_My demons tried to drag me down,_

_forced my head to hit the ground,_

_bottles piling up around ___

____

____

_my feet._

_But you were there, no hesitation,_

_as I begged your hallucination,_

_to leave me to accept_

_my defeat. ___

____

____

“What do you say we get out of here?” Craig asks softly, offering out his hand to pull Tweek to his feet.

_I’ve known you all my life,_

_but only got you recently._

_Now my heart belongs to you,_

_and you are all I see._

“Yeah. I think I’d like that,” Tweek smiles, taking the hand and not letting go.

Stan’s soft voice floats behind them as they head to Craig’s hut.

_Good intentions, declarations,_

_guidance and your deep affection…_

Outside the door to hut #6, something takes over Craig. Kenny would have jokingly told him it was _feelings_ and that’s why it’s so foreign to him, but whatever it is, it’s clearly contagious, because Tweek seems to have the same idea.

“I want to kiss you,” Tweek’s voice deepens, “that was today’s intention.”

“Then kiss me,” Craig says, leaning down half way before feeling a finger pressing against his lips.

“First, you need to know,” Tweek exhales a little shakily, but his eyes are determined, “that I’m going to kick your ass if I’m just meeting some criteria.”

Craig holds out his hands, waiting for Tweek to take hold before answering, “That’s fair. Though I was hoping you’d wreck my ass in a completely different way.”

“ _Craig._ ”

“More than happy to wreck yo-”

“Craig, I’m serious."

“So am I. About you. My brain has practically reserved you the passenger seat in my baby. Only Stripe has been allowed such a privilege. You don’t even need to blond. You could tell me right now that that,” his eyes move to Tweek’s unruly curls trying to sneak out of his snapback, “isn’t your natural color, and I’d still want to suck your face off.”

Tweek considers this, looking down at their joined hands. “I’ve never met a guy like you before, Craig.”

“A guy with a criteria list?”

“Well yes, but. More than that, I guess. Forget it, we can talk later.”

“Kiss me, Tweek,” this time, Craig’s lips get what they want. The kiss starts soft and chaste, until Tweek’s tongue forces its way into Craig’s mouth. He allows the intruder, happy for Tweek to lead and massage his gums. The sensual swipe across the roof of his mouth sends shivers through his nerves. There’s a hint of coffee and spice and something else that Craig can’t identify, pressing his lips harder, kissing deeper until his stupid lungs demand he find air.

When he pulls back, he looks over Tweek’s flushed face and his heart clenches. He’s sure he’s found the one. Someone who would co-parent Stripe, sit in the passenger seat of his Ford F-150, window rolled down, hair messy, and screaming Benatar’s _We Belong_ at the top of his lungs with him.

“You know,” Craig gives Tweek’s hands a squeeze, “I think there was a third criteria even Kenny didn’t know about.”

“Oh? Please enlighten me.”

“He has to be called _Tweek_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This fic was a struggle from beginning to end. I'm sorry if the formatting makes it difficult to read. I'll try and edit this later if it's a mess.
> 
> Update 12/26/20: In my tired rush to upload, I forgot to say that I did not create Craig's Boner Jams! This is a real life playlist put together by the amazing and talented tlinrookie. You can read more about this in their fic 'Friday I'm In Love' (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038537). Thank you so much for making it practically canon for us all Rookie, I love you! :)
> 
> I really hope there's something in this you could enjoy, Jules! :') You deserve to be treated! <3 I have never written stenny before, so I hope I did them justice! I can't wait to read my SS fic from the super awesome Tweekscoffebean and all the other SS fics posted here. This event has been a lot of fun and I can't wait to see what's in store for 2021!!! :)
> 
> One last thank you to the supportive sp creek discord, who put up with my rambles and worries and are the sweetest people I've ever interacted with!!! :') If anyone reading this is over 18 and wants to join in the fun, please ask for the form to join! We're a friendly cult, promise!!! :D
> 
> Finally, I love and appreciate you all so very much!!! <3 <3 <3


End file.
